


Chasing Prey

by Cousin Shelley (CousinShelley)



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Yuletide Assignment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2780939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinShelley/pseuds/Cousin%20Shelley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick must stop a serial killer to protect both humans and vampires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Prey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greerwatson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/gifts).



Nick walked through the door of the morgue, looking forward to seeing Natalie before he and Schanke were called out, or were mired in paperwork. Grace sat at a desk, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. He knew that look. That was the _you really don’t want to go in there_ look.

“That bad?”

“Does the phrase ‘bee in her bonnet’ mean anything to you? All I can say is I hope it’s nothing _you_ did, but if you think it might be? Buckle up.”

Nick nodded. Nat was the last person he spoke to before going to sleep that morning, and she’d been in a fine mood. He was relieved whatever was wrong couldn’t have been because of him. At least, he didn’t _think_ it could be. He hoped.

“Thanks for the warning.”

As he passed, he heard Grace mumble to herself, “Bee in her bonnet, more like a bug up her butt.”  

He bit back a laugh, then opened the door to the room where Nat waited, apparently not in the best of moods.

***

“Hey, Nat,” he said brightly, hoping to help improve her outlook.

Her face was stern. “Nick.”

“Tough day?”

She gave him a dark look. “Not as tough as your night might be once you see this.”

Natalie pulled out a drawer. A small pile of something lay beneath the sheet.

 _At least it’s a murder that’s bothering her and not me._ Nick frowned to realize his inner voice sounded far too much like Schanke.

Natalie lifted the sheet to reveal a foot, a hand, what looked like broken pieces of a ribcage, and the head of a middle-aged man with dark hair that looked badly dyed. He wasn’t wrinkled, but Nick suspected cosmetic surgery, given the hair. There were some other pieces of flesh and bone he couldn’t distinguish.

“Smell that?” she asked.

“Smell what?”

“Blood.”

Nick leaned over and took a deep breath. “No.”   _Not enough to even make him ache with hunger._  

“Exactly. Look.” Nat turned the head to the side and pointed to the two puncture wounds on the neck, just above the cut that had severed it from its body. “I think we have a problem.”

***

Natalie would take care of hiding this particular problem, Nick knew. But that didn’t mean someone else wouldn’t get the first call to a scene with a similar corpse. There would be only so much she could do if someone else examined the body first.

Nick flipped through the file again, hoping to find something that no one but him would notice. If this murder were an isolated incident, he wouldn’t worry so much. And no doubt Natalie wouldn’t have been so on edge. But a look at the case file made it pretty clear that this wasn’t the first such killing.

Grant and McPherson had taken the call earlier in the day after a frantic runner called in the terrible find. It hadn’t taken much work to identify the man, since one with his description had been missing for a couple of days. Marcus Bentley. Multi-millionaire owner of Bentley Foods. His wife had reported him missing two days ago. She said he’d gone to meet someone about a business proposition, but she didn’t know who or where.

Two weeks earlier, George Oppenheim had been reported missing by his longtime companion and business partner, Fred Page. Mr. Page had told them that George had been seeing a new business associate he didn’t know much about, but it hadn’t related to his dry cleaning business. It was something about rare art or antiquities of some kind. He didn’t know any more than that.

When a hiker had come across a patch of freshly turned earth with a particularly foul odor, they’d found George. Or shavings of him. As far as Natalie could tell, George had been frozen and run through a wood chipper, and then some of him, at least, had been spread around that spot and “buried.”

Careful examination of the soil revealed remnants of a ring and a pendant that George wore--a sterling silver half-moon with a star dangling from the end.

A month before that, a shipping magnate had disappeared, yet to be found. And two months before that, the founder of a popular North American pizza chain had gone missing.

All wealthy, all in their 50s or 60s, all left to see someone about _something_ and never came back.

And Marcus Bentley was the first one to show up in pieces big enough to recognize.

“Let’s go poke around and see what we can find out.” Schanke plopped onto the corner of Nick’s desk. “Because watching you stare at that file as if it has personally insulted you is not my idea of a good time.”

“You _could_ be doing paperwork of your own instead of watching me,” Nick said, but he closed the file and stood.

“And have Cohen see me willingly doing paperwork without being browbeat into it, which might make her question everything she thinks she knows about the universe? That would be cruel.”

Schanke led the way out to Nick’s Caddy. “You do realize that the pattern’s off with this one, right? Something’s very, very wrong.”

Nick knew Schanke didn’t know about the bite mark, or he’d have been worried at where his partner was going with this. As he slid behind the wheel, he said, “Yeah. If the same person’s responsible for all of the missing millionaires--”

“And we think he is.”

“--then he’s getting sloppier each time. Not the usual pattern.”

“Right. Serial killers start out sloppier and refine their work as they go. This one, not so.” Schanke sighed. “What’s wrong with people?”

“So we haven’t found the first two missing men. The third we find ground up, the fourth in much bigger pieces. He hadn’t been frozen, according to Nat, so either the killer didn’t plan on disposing of him in the same way he got rid of George Oppenheim, or he was interrupted.”

Schanke rubbed his forehead. “I mean, killing somebody’s one thing, but running him through a wood chipper? And practically tilling him into the ground like you’re planting a garden? Jeez.”

Nick didn’t comment. He didn’t know what was wrong with people, either.

After a few minutes, Schanke sighed. “My vote’s on interrupted.”

“Mine, too.”

“Think it’s too late to talk to his wife?” Schanke looked at his watch. “Let’s give it a try.”

***

Gloria Bentley was much younger than her husband, came from a poor neighborhood, and apparently had spent the couple of days her husband had been missing with her Pilates instructor “for comfort.”

If this had been an isolated case, she’d have been the “primo suspect,” as Schanke liked to say. Especially given Marcus Bentley’s impressive life insurance policies and estate, which would all be hers now. But with the other missing men and similar circumstances, Gloria was only useful to them in what information she could provide.

That had been little. She seemed disinterested in Marcus’ dealings for the most part. Disinterested in his entire life. She couldn’t remember the name of the man he was going to see, why he was going, or what it could have been about.

While Schanke whistled and hissed his appreciation of a huge glass case filled with antique guns, Nick looked into her eyes and pushed, just a little.

“Can you try to remember what business he was going to discuss?”   _Tell me why he was meeting this man_

“I . . . I don’t think it was business, really. It was about his hobby. Wasn’t it?” She blinked rapidly, then settled her eyes back on Nick’s face.

“His hobby?”

“You know, his . . . creepy past-time. It’s embarrassing. I hate it when he brings it up at social gatherings.”

Schanke moved to stand at the end of the couch, interested. “What past-time?”

“I’ll show you.  I don’t even like this stuff being in the house. You know, occulty stuff.”

None of that had been in the file. Schanke looked down at Nick. “Occulty _how_?”

Georgia stood and had them follow her down a long hall. “Oh, you know. Demons and witches and werewolves, stuff like that.” She opened the door to a large room. Shelves lined the walls. Shelves full of a collection of occult and paranormal paraphernalia.

“Oh, and vampires. He had a real thing for those.”

Nick straightened. This was the key, he knew it. They had to talk to the other spouses to see if those men were also interested in “occulty” things. Like vampires.

“Vampires, huh?” He bent over to look at items on a lower shelf. “Crystal ball, tarot cards, and . . . is that a mummified hand?”

“Yeah,” Georgia said, wrapping her arms around herself and shaking her head. “It’s just gross.”

Nick’s attention focused on a small ornate box lined with black velvet, containing what looked like three incisors. Unusually long, pointed ones.

“These. Are they supposed to be--”

“Vampire fangs,” she said, making quote marks in the air. “If I told you how much he spent on those, you’d cry.”

“I probably would.” Schanke shook his head, looking as horrified as Georgia seemed. “I’d probably be tempted to file down a couple of my teeth, yank ‘em out and make some extra cash.”

Georgia nodded and stepped closer to Schanke. “And that’s probably exactly what happened here. I mean, vampires? If you’re going to have a hobby, why not spend your time on something real, like a sport or finding arrowheads or something? Spending millions of dollars on something so stupid . . . .”

“Millions?” Schanke asked, squinting as if he might be getting a headache.

“This room represents several million dollars blown, easily. And he has another room on the other side of the house that’s about the same.”

“Because he believes vampires and werewolves are real?”

“Mmmhmm. Crazy, isn’t it? He was obsessed with the idea that vampires never die and always remain as young as when they were bitten, etcetera.” George pronounced it _exetra_. “‘They walk among us, Georgia,’ he always said. ‘You’ll see, one day.’“

Nick nodded, the vague sense of dread that had been building since Nat showed him the bite marks spiking at the idea that Marcus Bentley probably found out he was right. Just before he died.

“You want to see the other room?”

Nick shook his head before Schanke’s curiosity could get the best of him. “No, thank you, Mrs. Bentley. I don’t think that’s necessary right now, and we know it’s late. Can we just look around here for a few more minutes?”

“Sure, take your time. This stuff gives me the creeps, though. I hope you don’t mind if I . . . ?” She pointed at the door. “I trust you in here. And honestly, if something disappeared, it’s not like I’d ever know anyway.”

Nick smiled. “Thank you. It’s fine for you to go. We’ll look around a few minutes and see ourselves out.”

Once she was gone, Schanke laughed.

“I don’t know if _I_ trust me in here. Millions? For crap like this?” He blew out a breath and shook his head, and stared deeply into a large crystal ball on a marble pedestal. “For _fake_ crap. That’s the kicker.”

“I guess it was as good as real to him.” Nick examined the teeth as best he could through the glass.   _Fake. Of course, they’re fake. They have to be._  “And you saw the file. She told them he worked out every day, hair transplants, several cosmetic surgeries, colonics, ‘detoxing,’ whatever that is. Marcus Bentley was obsessed with staying young. Vampires seem a pretty obvious choice as an obsession if you believe they have what you want most.”

“Immortality. If he really was meeting someone about his “occulty” hobby and ended up dead because of it, that’s some heavy-duty irony.”

Nick stood next to him. “See anything in that? Like maybe a hint of where we should go next?”

“I do. I see . . . wait, is that . . . it’s getting clearer now . . . it’s a  . . . yes, yes, it’s a restaurant, Sal . . . Salo . . . _Salandro’s_. We should go there, since the universe is telling us to. It’s destiny, Nick. And the best slouvaki this side of town.”

Nick smirked.

“And then . . . after that . . . we should follow up with the other wives to see if their missing husbands were into Voodoo or whatever. That’s there, too.” Schanke slapped his hand on his forehead. “No, wait, those ideas were just all in my head. That? That’s just a big glass ball.”

As they left the Bentley mansion, Schanke said, “I am hungry, though.”

***

“You have a lead? You think you might know who killed George?”

Fred Page had answered on the first ring, and was eager to talk to Nick and Schanke. He didn’t appear to be getting a lot of sleep, and his clothes looked worn for more than a day.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Schanke said, “but we’re looking at something we thought you could help with. Did George have any strange hobbies? Occult-type hobbies?”

“Occult? Devil worship and things like that?”

“Not necessarily. Werewolves, supernatural creatures. Specifically, vampires.”

Fred left the room without a word. Nick and Schanke followed him into another room where he sat at a computer.

“Mr. Page?”

“Just a . . . there. I’m looking in George’s documents. He kept an entire folder with _dozens_ of subfolders full of information on things like UFOs, Bigfoot sightings, chupacabras. He enjoyed things like that, things that people kept seeing and insisting were real while most of the world stayed skeptical. He never mentioned vampires to me, but he stopped mentioning much of it to me last time we argued about whether or not Stanley Kubrick faked and filmed the moon landings in the Nevada desert.”

Schanke’s head tilted in a way that reminded Nick of a dog that heard a whistle. “Stanley Kub--”

“Vampires!” George shouted, clicking and pecking keys. “It’s a fairly new folder, buried in European mythology. A family in Europe . . . dug their loved one up and ate his heart because they believed he’d come back as a vampire and was stalking them at night. A few more similar ones. And a text file. Oh, a man’s name. That’s interesting. A singer, I guess.”

Schanke didn’t like that tone. He hoped he wasn’t opening something up that would be unpleasant for him. He and Nick walked around to look at the screen.

When they’d copied the information, they told Mr. Page that they’d contact him with an update soon, that he’d been very helpful. Schanke put his hand on the man’s arm before they left and urged him to get some sleep.

“So, what do you think about _that_?” Schanke asked when they were in the Caddy, driving away.

Nick shrugged and repeated the information in the text file. “ _Lawrence sang about something unbelievable_. Sounds like it could be some sort of a code, or something that only makes sense to George Oppenheim. Maybe a mnemonic device in the form of a sentence.”

Lawrence sang. Lawrence _Sang_. The French word for blood. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

Schanke waved a hand. “Yeah, but I mean about the moon landings and Stanley Kubrick. People actually believe that stuff?”

Nick closed his eyes for far longer than was really safe when driving.

“Though, you know, the footage, sometimes, did seem a bit--”

“Schanke.” He looked at his partner. “You going to start believing in vampires, too?”

The pause was too long for Nick’s liking. He nearly sighed with relief when Schanke said, “Not until one rises up and bites _me_. Evidence, Nick. That’s all I care about.”

“Good. Forget the moon landings. We need to figure out who these men were meeting. Let’s see if we can get a hold of the other wives and see what they know about their husbands interests?”

Both women remembered their husbands interests in the occult, or the fantastical, when asked. It made sense that they hadn’t mentioned it before, Nick knew. Why would such a strange hobby or interest have anything to do with their disappearances? He was grateful that it hadn’t come up until now. As long as he and Nat could control the flow of that particular information, even Schanke knowing about this part of the case wouldn’t be a problem. At least, not yet.

***

“Oh, Nick, it just had to be vampires, didn’t it?” Natalie weighed a heart as Nick walked into the morgue. He’d already updated her on what he and Schanke found. “Couldn’t have just been an ordinary, run-of-the-mill serial killer, huh?”

Nat’s half-smile set Nick at ease. At least she wasn’t as stressed as earlier about it.

“Where’s the fun in that,” he said, deadpan, and sat at a desk in the corner to watch her.

“Schanke?”

“Eating.”

Nat raised an eyebrow at him. “I hope you didn’t tell him you had an upset stomach again. You’ve used that excuse so often that it took me an hour last week to convince him that you didn’t need to see a gastroenterologist, and you didn’t need his Grandma Schanke’s home remedy. Which involves a lot of garlic, by the way, and other ingredients I’ve tried very hard to forget.”

“It would.” He laughed, genuinely, for the first time in a few days. “I said I’d started a new diet that involves eating specific vegetables at specific times. He was horrified, but hungry enough not to waste time arguing.”

Nat finished her weights, took off her gloves and gown, and washed her hands. Nick stayed silent, but stood as she approached the desk.

“So are you going to make me say it?” she asked. “Since you haven’t brought it up yet?”

“Shhh,” he said, and pulled her into an embrace. “I haven’t hugged you yet today. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Natalie laughed and pushed against Nick’s chest. “I’m serious. You know you should--”

“I know.”

Natalie opened her mouth, but Nick shook his head. “Nat. I know. I’ll talk to him.”

“I don’t like it, either, you know. The less contact you have with him, the better. But you can’t ignore the fact that he will probably have some . . . .” Nat cringed. “Sorry. I know you know. I just worry, and . . . .”

“Yep.” Nick pulled her back into a hug, then kissed her forehead. “I know you do.”

***

Nick called The Raven before he left. He knew LaCroix wouldn’t want to have the conversation over the phone, but he was hoping to catch him there so he could ask his questions on his terms.

Since Nick slid his loft door open to find LaCroix waiting on his couch, he guessed LaCroix had been there when he called but had simply told his bartender to say otherwise.

“You _rang_?” LaCroix said, the smile obvious in his voice.

“I could have come by, saved you the trip. It’ll be light soon.”

“Oh, but I do enjoy spending time with you here amongst your things. It’s the ambience, you realize, that makes our visits so special.”

“It’ll be light soon,” Nick repeated more firmly. He stood at the end of the couch but didn’t sit.

LaCroix crossed his legs and rested his palms on his thigh. “Since you are proving to be such a rude host, I will no doubt be gone in plenty of time. So tell me, Nicholas, did you call to inquire about my health? See if I wanted to join you for brunch? Or, no, let me guess--you _need_ something from me.”

“Lawrence Sang. Do you know the name?”

“I know a great many names.” LaCroix’s expression wasn’t quite as glib as it had been before, Nick noted.  “If I knew why you were wondering, that might help.”

Nick gave up and plopped into the armchair at the end of the couch. “Murder case. If he’s the one responsible, he left obvious marks on the body, and a distinct lack of blood. Looks like it’s at least number four, and the first with punctures in the neck.”

LaCroix flared his nostrils and inhaled. “Well. Something will have to be done about that, won’t it? Who knows?”

“No one who’s a threat.”

LaCroix smiled. “So your medical examiner friend. You realize that one day, you will have to make her forget these--”

“”I’m not having this conversation with you again.”

“Very well. I trust you’ll recall the many times I tried to discuss it with you when the time comes.”

Nick laughed bitterly. “Only you could make _I told you so_ even more condescending than it already is.”

LaCroix stood and brushed at his black slacks. “Lawrence Sang is very wealthy, very bored and very old. He enjoys the finer things in life, and is well known among our kind--which you would know, if you didn’t reject your gifts--as one who does not prefer to drink from the bottle. It appears he’s become careless, and that cannot be allowed.”

Nick leaned forward in the chair, elbows on knees. “The Enforcers?”

“Most likely unnecessary. If you should go up against Sang, Nicholas, there’s a reasonable chance he could beat you. I, on the other hand, am older. I’ll ask after his whereabouts. Feliks will most likely know and be happy to help.”

“No.”

LaCroix paused and regarded Nick with raised eyebrows. “No?”

“It’s police business. I’ll handle it.”

“You know as well as anyone how useless a gun and a badge will be.”

“You’ve helped a great deal, LaCroix. Just leave it at that. It’s best if no other vampires get involved, just in case this gets away from us.

“I suggest you make sure it does not.”

“I intend to.”

LaCroix sighed. “So stubborn. I will ask his whereabouts _casually_. If I find out anything, I will be in touch.”

Nick knew that if LaCroix found Sang first, he would be in touch to tell Nick that Sang was dead and the problem was taken care of. He couldn’t argue with results, but he disliked LaCroix being that involved in any part of his life.

“Thank you, LaCroix,” he managed to say sincerely. “If I need you--”

“I will most likely know before you can even ask, Nicholas.” LaCroix looked up and was out the skylight before Nick could deny it, even though it was almost certainly true.

***

Nick couldn’t rest. He kept expecting the phone to ring with a frantic Nat on the other line, telling him there was another body and someone else had found it first, bloodless, bite marks on the neck. He thought of the teeth in Bentley’s collection. He felt almost obsessed with the idea of examining them, or having Nat examine them, to determine if they were real or fake.

 _Fake. Fake crap_ , he could hear Schanke say. But his unease told him that maybe, just maybe they weren’t.

By the time he headed into the station, he was focused on finding Lawrence Sang before LaCroix so he could handle the situation his way, making it easier to cover things up officially. LaCroix would be discreet enough to keep vampires from becoming a known entity, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t delight in making things a little difficult for _Nick_.

Nick found three messages on his desk from Fred Page. Schanke came toward him, waving a few little slips of paper in the air. “He call you, too?”

“Yep, let’s go.”

Mr. Page had spent some time looking through George Oppenheim’s private computer files, and found another name, this time, complete with a phone number, which was easy enough to trace to an address.

“Stanley Warner?” Schanke said, when a man cracked open the door, chain still visible through the crack.

“Who’re you?”

Schanke held up his badge. “Police. We’d like to talk--”

Stanley tried to slam the door, but Nick threw himself against it before it could latch, easily breaking the flimsy chain and sending Stanley sprawling. He wasn’t difficult to maneuver into a chair. He wasn’t very tall, and couldn’t have weighed 120 pounds soaking weight. His dark hair was shoulder length and greasy, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“I don’t know anything!” Stanley cried, looking down at his trembling hands.

“Come on, Stanley.” Schanke put a firm hand on his shoulder. “I haven’t even asked you anything yet. You’re a _terrible_ criminal. Really time for you to find another line of work, don’t you think?”

Nick took a harder tone. “You don’t know anything about _what_?”

“Nothing!

“You already burned that bridge, Stanley,” Schanke said. “We know you’re guilty of something. Now it’s just a matter of figuring out what. Fraud, conspiracy to commit murder, or murder.”

“ _Murder_? Oh, Jesus. No.”

“So, fraud then.” Schanke crouched down so that he was eye-level with Stanley, who had actual tears in his eyes. “Fraud’s an easy rap, Stanley. You can get clean while you’re inside a minimal-security facility, come out a new man. Murder, and you probably don’t get out of hard time with harder killers. Your choice, buddy.”

“Look . . . they’ll kill me.”

“Who, Stanley?” Nick’s angry voice made Stanley flinch. “Who’ll kill you?”

Stanley looked between them, openly crying. “Man, you just don’t know . . . I’m not talking about cement shoes or a bullet between the eyes here. You just don’t _know_.”

Nick prepared himself to interrupt Stanley, find a reason to keep him from saying something just this side of something Schanke could easily ignore.

“Stanley, my man,” Schanke said. “Nothing you can say will surprise us. Homicide, remember? And if you tell us everything, we can protect you. We’ll go pick these people up, and they can’t kill you when they’re behind bars, right?”

Stanley laughed and wrapped his arms around himself. He laughed like that was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Ben can’t. But Lawrence? He can do anything.”

As Stanley started laughing again, Schanke stood and paced, rubbing his hand over his forehead. “I’m losing patience here, Stanley. Murder’s looking pretty good. Just you, one killer, so much less paperwork.”

“Stanley,” Nick said, his voice softening as much as Schanke’s had grown hard. He looked into Stanley’s eyes but didn’t push. Not yet. “Lawrence Sang?”

Stanley nodded and sniffed wetly.

“And Ben--who’s he? An associate of Sang’s?”

Another nod.

“Where can we find them. Just give us an address, a phone number. Anything.” Then Nick pushed into his mind that he knew what Sang was, what he could do, and he would protect Stanley from him. He made Stanley believe it.

He scrawled an address and a phone number for Ben Lilton, and wiped his face on a tissue Schanke handed him.

“How did you get involved with these guys, Stanley? What’s their business with you?”

Stanley explained that he had a mailing list of people interested in supernatural creatures, unusual events and conspiracy theories called “Now You Know.” He worked full-time at a garage, but spent the rest of his time putting together information for his newsletters. He gave Nick and Schanke a printed copy of his last one to read.

“Surprisingly well-written, considering the way you talk,” Schanke said.

“I don’t write the information so much as compile it.”

He’d been contacted by Ben Lilton about the people who received his newsletters, especially those who spent more money on the books and other information Stanley also sold. Ben had needed help in getting that kind of info, getting writers willing to provide him with features and information, while aiming it at a very high-end crowd. Instead of a simple newsletter with a few longer works available, Lilton wanted slick merchandising, and needed Stanley’s help finding appropriate content. And when Stanley found out that a man who brought all of his cars to the garage where he worked had an interest in the occult, thanks to a book in his glove box Stanley found while detailing his Mercedes, he’d left some information about Ben’s new venture tucked into the book. He figured if he helped get Ben a high-paying customer, he’d get a bigger reward than his regular pay for supplying content.

The man that found the flyer and contacted Lilton was the owner of the successful pizza chain. The first man who’d turned up missing. And Stanley was familiar with the last one to disappear, Bentley. He was sure he’d been a subscriber of Now You Know, one who had also started purchasing various items from Lilton.

Nick knew the best way to get both Lilton and Sang at the same time. Schanke wouldn’t like it, neither would Cohen. He wouldn’t even tell Nat, most likely.

“ . . . so when I saw on the news that he’d been found . . . parts of him . . . I didn’t know what to do. I never knew they was going to kill any of those guys. You gotta believe me! I thought I was helping to connect buyers to sellers. I had no idea!”

He was telling the truth and wasn’t difficult at all to read. That would make Nick’s plan even easier.

***

Nick sat in the mahogany leather booth, waiting for Nick Lilton. Schanke hadn’t been pleased. As the senior officer, he should have been the one going undercover. But Nick convinced him that he’d always had a fascination with vampires and occulty things, and could sound more natural while speaking to Lilton. Schanke had given in based on that, and it hadn’t taken long for Cohen to get on board.

Stanley had agreed to set up a meeting between Nick and Lilton, though he’d refused at first.

“But I don’t introduce him to anybody in person. It was just that one guy I got lucky with when he brought his car in. I just help him with content. He’s gonna think it’s fishy.”

“You were servicing _my_ car, Stanley, and when I picked the car up, you noticed the pentagram I wore around my neck. We struck up a conversation, and you thought it was too good an opportunity to pass up. He’ll assume greed over betrayal. You can tell him on the phone from a safe location. Trust me.” _Trust me and don’t be afraid_

Sure, Nick pushed a little to give Stanley the confidence to go through with it and pull it off, but maybe the guy could have done it on his own. It didn’t take long for Stanley to convince Lilton that a guy whose classic Cadillac, just one car from his extensive collection, had come into the shop for a tune-up and detailing, had a fascination with creatures of the night and a lot of money to spend.

And wanted to meet with a man who could prove to him that vampires were real.

***

Lilton sauntered into the restaurant, all cocky confidence and anticipation. His suit was expensive, more expensive than the one they’d borrowed from a clothier for Nick to wear. At least three rings sparkled on each hand. This man had made quite a profitable business out of murder.

“Mr. Donaldson?”

Nick shook his hand, then took his gloves off, as if he’d just arrived. “Please, call me Nick.”

“And call me Ben. We should be on a first-name basis. What we’re about to do is at least as intimate as anything you’d ever done with a lover.” Lilton smiled, showing all his teeth--white, straight and perfect. Thousands of dollars of work, no doubt.

“You sound confident, but I’ll admit . . . I’m skeptical. I’ve always suspected--”

A server brought them the drinks that Lilton had apparently ordered ahead. Nick continued. “--that things like this do exist, but suddenly being faced with the opportunity to see proof, for a price, well . . . I hope you can see why it seems a little odd. When you have a lot of money, you have to be on lookout for those trying to rip you off.”

Nick gestured at him. “Well, surely _you_ know. You’re clearly a man of means and refinement. You must have to be on your guard all the time, too.”

“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward on his elbows and lowering his voice. “Constantly. But this is, I assure you, all above board. In fact, if you’re not convinced that what you’re seeing is real, you don’t pay a dime. Now it’s just a matter of you deciding what you need as proof, and we’ll figure out what the price should be.”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck, to look unconvinced. “What are my options? Can I just meet this . . . vampire and get a demonstration? God, it sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t sound silly. Of course, a demonstration is required. Anybody could have some fake fangs glued in, some contacts. Those are parlor tricks. This? This is something you’ll watch happen with your own eyes--I still get chills every time his fangs slide down or he flies across the room.” Ben shook a little and laughed, but Nick knew it was mostly for show.

“What kind of demonstration did you have in mind? Because I’m thinking . . . the fangs, yes. Flying?”

“You can all that if you want, and his eyes will change, as well. And if you want to see him do more, that can be arranged. For a slightly higher fee, of course.”

“More?” Nick leaned forward.

“See him drink from someone. As, uh, much as you want him to.”

Nick looked side to side, as if worried they might be overheard, then leaned in and whispered. “You mean . . . if I wanted him to drink so much . . . .”

“To drain the person. Yes. You can witness an actual vampire kill, for the right price. You would be one of the elite, one of the few people in this world to ever see such a thing. Someone of your stature deserves that kind of unique experience, don’t you think?”

Ben raised his glass to Nick. Nick returned the gesture, and wondered again just how much the rich men actually got see before they were dispatched. There could be other bodies--people used for the demonstrations. He hoped none of them had paid extra for that particular show, but judging by Ben’s ease in talking about it, it was hardly the first time he’d brought it up.

***

Nick felt momentary guilt at the panic that must now be gripping Schanke, Cohen and the other officers. He’d snapped his wire when he’d gone into the restaurant. The crushed remains of the equipment were buried in the bathroom trash can, just in case. Bad enough to be caught with a wire in an ancient vampire’s presence. But to be caught with one that didn’t even work, that would have been ridiculous.

He laughed to himself, drawing a curious look from Ben. They were in the backseat of a black stretch limo, on the way to see Sang.

“It’s nothing,” Nick assured him, waving a hand. “I’m just so excited, I can barely believe it. To see proof, know things no one else knows. If that’s not a happy occasion, I don’t know what is.”

“Good point.”

“So, how did you come to be in this particular business, if you don’t mind my asking? It’s quite a unique business model.”

Ben grinned. “It is. I guess you could say that I fell into it and found it so rewarding, I never considered doing anything else again. I met Mr. Sang when he was looking for . . . nourishment. There’s an entire underground most people aren’t aware of where you can get almost any desire fulfilled. He desires blood, and there are plenty of people willing to supply it. My desires run . . . along similar lines. Our paths crossed, and here we are.”

Nick had a feeling he could get more of the story out of Lilton, since there was little doubt in his mind that Lilton fully intended for him to be dead before the night was over.

“You drink blood?”

Ben stared at him for a moment, before smiling and letting down his guard. “No. But I have always enjoyed . . .  spilling it. And one night, Sang and I set our sights on the same prey. He was in a generous mood, so we shared.”

“You killed someone together,” Nick whispered, as if fascinated by the idee or almost aroused by it.

“We did. We drew blood in our own unique ways. I still think he meant to kill me when it was over, but as the night went on, he saw how valuable I could be to him. I still provide him with people eager to bend their necks. If something goes wrong, then I’m the one on the hook, not him. It provides him with a layer of protection he was missing before. Selling knowledge of his existence to wealthy, discreet, businessmen who deserve to know the truth, that was my idea. He indulged me because of that, I suppose.”

The lies were so obvious, Nick had a hard time not letting his disbelief show on his face. Oh, it was truthful to a point. He had little doubt that was how they met, and that the business of selling the truth to wealthy businessman was Lilton’s idea. But along with those who might willingly let a vampire drink from them, he provided those same wealthy businessmen as prey.

Sang was too old to be a fool. No one who knew what he was would survive. He couldn’t risk that kind of exposure. Surely Lilton had to know that one day, he’d be more of a liability than an asset, and he’d end up like one of his “clients.”

“Couldn’t he kill you at any time? Doesn’t that worry you?”

Lilton laughed. “He could have killed me the night we met. I figure I’ve been on borrowed time since then. It might as well be in bespoke designer suits and limos with caviar for breakfast and beautiful men and women at my beck and call, day or night.”

He chuckled again. “Besides, Mr. Sang enjoys revealing himself to people who are desperate to know the truth. I think he needs it at this point in his life. In that context, I’m not so easily replaced.”

The richly furnished house sat at the end of a long, private drive. Nick knew it probably wasn’t where Sang lived. Just where he entertained his “clients.” Rich wood, leather, crystal chandeliers--not the kind of a place a rich man walks into thinking he’ll never walk out of again.

Lilton led him to what appeared to be a large library, with a rolling ladder and an upper loft full of books. “I’ll go and get Mr. Sang.”

“Wonderful,” Nick said as he put a hand on Lilton’s arm to keep him in place. “But first . . . .”  

Nick impressed upon his mind that he would bring Sang to him, then go back to the hallway and wait. And forget Sang completely. The murders were simply his own thefts and attempts to cover his tracks.

If Lilton had been innocent, or even a little less guilty, Nick might have found another way. As it was, he had gallons of blood on his hands, probably from before he ever met Sang. He deserved whatever fate awaited him.

Nick stood and turned when the door opened. Sang threw Lilton’s body into the room, then walked slowly in, wiping blood from his mouth with a white handkerchief. “You broke my toy,”

“I may have wound him up a little, but it looks like you’re the one who broke him.” Nick circled the couch, walking backwards.

“Don’t worry, Nicholas,” Sang said, holding up his hands. “He had outlived his usefulness. Getting sloppy. Overpayment tends to have the opposite effect on people. Instead of working harder, being more careful, they get cocky. It was a good run while it lasted, though.”

He’d only ever referred to himself with Lilton as Nick. The only person who regularly called him Nicholas . . . . “LaCroix?”

“He said you’d be here to throw a monkey wrench into the works. As usual, he was right.” Sang smiled and seemed more amused than angry or murderous. “Suppose it’s time to move on.”

“You risked everything, the entire community, for what--a thrill?”

“Maybe. Made a lot of money, too. You don’t think I let him keep it all, surely.” Sang laughed and sat in an overstuffed, leather armchair. “It was thrilling to show these men what they wanted to see, and thrilling to have them hand over PINs, passcodes, account numbers to accounts full of wealth ripe for the taking--if you have good people on your team who can manage those things without leaving much of a trail, at least.”

Sang took a deep breath, then ran his fingers through his black hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and making him look as much like Lugosi’s Dracula as Nick had seen any vampire ever look.

“I suppose it was a thrill. And now it’s over, thanks to you. I should probably kill you, but I think I’ll just hurt you instead. Think of it as a learning opportunity. Here you are, probably with a stake in your coat and a flask of holy water making your hip ache, and yet I’m going to beat you absolutely bloody. Embrace that lesson, if you can.”

Sang slammed into Nick, cracking his head against the floor with the force of their impact. “Want to know what else LaCroix told me?” Sang growled.

“Not particularly.”

“I told him,” LaCroix said from somewhere in the room, “that I wished you weren’t my favorite, because you can be so very tedious at times.”

Sang flew up off Nick, sensing the threat before Nick could react. Nick came up a half-second after to see LaCroix pull a broadsword from a display on the wall.

Sang squared his shoulders. “Did you bring Enforcers?”

“No, Lawrence. I dislike them as much as you.”

“That’s a shame, Lucien. You should have. I’ve always liked you, and it will make me momentarily sad to have to kill you.”

“I feel the same. But these things must be done.”

“Very well.”

Before Sang could advance, Nick pulled out something Sang hadn’t named--a crucifix. It burned Nick’s hand, but not as much as it would burn Sang. He slammed it against the back of Sang’s neck, pressed forward and down, gripping his shoulder at the same time to keep him in place.

Sang screamed and went down surprisingly fast, perhaps the evil of the man and the vampire combining to react with the crucifix in an intense way.

“We’ve survived for millennia, and you dared risk all of our lives for your thrill-seeking and bloodlust. It’s time for your lesson, Lawrence. A lesson that all other vampires will benefit from.”

Nick looked up at LaCroix’ stoic face, and he did see a hint of regret there. LaCroix nodded, so Nick moved back, the crucifix peeling away the burning flesh to reveal the knots of Sang’s vertebrae.

LaCroix brought the sword down as soon as Nick was clear. Then, without a word, he did the same to Lilton’s body, just below the puncture wounds. “I’ll have someone else come in quickly and dispose of . . . things.”

Nick knew things were Lilton’s head and Sang’s entire corpse. “You told him I’d be coming. Why didn’t you just kill him yourself?”

LaCroix looked down his nose at Nick for a moment, as if deciding whether to explain his reasons. He sighed. “I thought perhaps him moving on would be best. Killing a vampire . . . you know the consequences, if it’s discovered.”

“I do. You should have let me do it.”

LaCroix nodded. “Perhaps you could have.”

“You’re not making any sense. You wanted to kill him, then let him move on, so why show up and kill him anyway? And why tell him I’m coming?”

“I thought he would understand the need to move on if he knew the police were actually suspicious and that you knew as much as you did. He agreed to go, and I thought it best that you met him so he could convince you that was the best course. But he broke his word to me.”

Nick held his hands out to his sides. “No, he was going to move on.”

“He wasn’t supposed to hurt _you_ ,” LaCroix admitted, then looked as if he immediately regretted it.

Nick felt something tighten a little in his chest. He could have told himself it was having a promise broken that had caused LaCroix to act. But he knew it was his protectiveness. He cared about Nick in some twisted version of fatherly affection, and had always protected him. From others, at least.

“He was going to break your toy. And nobody gets to hurt me but you?” Nick asked in a voice that was softer than the words might have called for.

“Something like that,” LaCroix answered, just as softly. “Go. Let me take care of this, then call your compatriots to tell them whatever story you can dream up about Lilton’s murderous thievery and how you came to find his headless body. I look forward to reading your fiction in the papers, Nicholas.”

Nicholas stopped at the doorway and turned back to say thank you, but LaCroix had gone into another room. He didn’t try to get his attention.

***

“And how did you lose the wire, again?” Cohen asked, her arms crossed, her frown on one of the many aimed at him. Schanke and Nat both stood with similar poses.

“I don’t know.”

“It was taped on!” Schanke shouted. “Come on, Nick. I know you have problems with sunlight, and some strange aversion to normal, delicious food. Don’t tell me you’ve got a problem with adhesives, too.”

Nat rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, okay,” Cohen said. “What’s done is done, and it was happy ending, I suppose. But don’t think I won’t remember this next time there’s need for one of you to go undercover. Aside from losing the entire wire . . . good work, detectives.”

Schanke elbowed Nick on the way out of the office, his version of a pat on the back. “By the way, the suits think Stanley’s statement is enough to reasonably assume that Lilton killed all the rich guys. He “suddenly” doesn’t remember anything about Lawrence the singer, but he knows a lot about Lilton’s business dealings.”

Nat and Schanke flanked Nick’s desk. “Can you imagine getting somebody to pay you millions so you can show them, like, a monster, and then kill them to take even more money?”

“Easy work if you can get it?” Nat offered.

“Something like that.” Schanke bared his teeth. “Think these can pass for vampire fangs? I’ve got a kid to put through college.”

Nat leaned in to examine Schanke’s teeth. She pointed. “Mmm, probably not. But you’ve got something stuck between those.”

Nick chuckled and leaned over his desk a little as Schanke walked away, picking his teeth. “Did you get a chance--?”

“They’re fake. Filed and polished, probably after extraction.”

He’d thought so. He’d been almost sure. But those fangs in that little velvet box had bothered him enough that he’d asked Gloria Bentley if they could run tests on them.

“You think they’re really vampire fangs?” she’d said, laughing.

“No, not at all. But they could prove valuable in a missing person’s case, or even a case for fraud if we can figure out who they belong to.”

Gloria had bought his explanation and told him to keep them as long as he needed. “In fact, keep them if you want. I’ve got no use for some dead person’s teeth.”

Nick had the grace to feel sheepish as he asked Nat, “You’re sure?”

Nat pulled the small case from her blazer pocket and put it on his desk.

“Yes, Mr. Paranoia. I even held them in the sun, because I knew you’d ask me that.” Nat looked around. “Did you think they might have belonged to someone you knew? I mean, what about them got to you so much?”

“I don’t know. I guess just the idea that Lilton and Sang were selling knowledge of vampires, and then to see that collection with the teeth, someone buying what they thought were pieces of us . . . .” He shrugged. “I guess it made me really feel vulnerable, like prey, for the first time since I’ve been brought across.”

Nat shook her head. “But you’ve been hunted . . . always, from what I understand. The people who know you exist, so many have wanted to kill you. And you specifically. Have you forgotten how it felt to be shot with hollowed bullets stuffed with garlic?”

“I know, but that’s different. It’s all different. We’ve been hunted by those who believe we’re evil and should be eradicated. This . . . the idea that someone might do it just for a trophy, for teeth . . . like killing elephants for their ivory tusks or rhinos for their horn.”

“Or humans for their blood?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. “Suddenly you feel on the wrong end of the hunt.”

“I . . . I guess so.” Only Natalie could possibly understand without truly judging him. He was grateful for that. “Hypocritical of me, yes?”

“Hmm. Maybe a little. But we all have our flaws.”

Nat put her hand over Nick’s. “Anyway, they’re just somebody’s plain old choppers, probably pulled by a dentist with legitimate instruments, from what I can tell beneath the polishing. So you can stop feeling that way.”

 _Can I_? Nick wondered.

“Want them as a souvenir? You can keep them in a place of honor, below your sink with your coffee, maybe? Pull them out and glare at them while you watch King Kong and mire in self-reflection.”

Nick huffed. Nat was also the only person who could say something like that to him, even jokingly. “You’re being sassy.”

“You bet I am. Chin up, Knight,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You’ve got murders to solve.”

Natalie smiled over her shoulder as she walked away, and Nick couldn’t help watching until she disappeared around a corner. He turned the little box of teeth over in his hands, wondering whether he really wanted to keep it or not.

Schanke had gone to the bathroom, probably to examine his own teeth, so Nick casually walked to his partner’s desk and tucked the box into the top drawer. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Schank,” he mumbled, then went to tackle his pile of waiting paperwork.

 

*****


End file.
